There is a Light, Outtakes & Extras
by belladonnacullen
Summary: You asked for it... EPOV outtakes from There is a Light. ExB, AH, and whatever else you're supposed to write here.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a little glimpse into Edward's brain in late February 1990. I might not have even posted it, but I promised it to my TiaL gals over on facebook, so, well, here you go. It's no walk in the park. I honestly don't think you need this to understand Edward any better, but I used this to get into his head and Chapter 14 just flowed from this point outwards. So, do with this what you will. Hopefully I'll have more cheery out-takes somewhere down the road.**

**This was totally un-beta'ed. Any mistakes are mine. M**

* * *

><p>Each day the battle waged. Each day I worked to keep a toehold in the land of the living. Each day I clung to the sane portion of my brain. I knew without a doubt that I wanted Bella in my life forever, yet each day I lost ground, each day was a darker shade of gray.<p>

I felt my energy waning. I felt my illness taking over in the form of irrational moods, anger and unhappiness. Until, finally I began to lose myself to the darkness for days at a time. The only light I could see were those golden times at the end of the day when she'd crawl into my arms and whisper in my ear the words she'd recently written.

I'd sigh and close my eyes and dream that we could make it work.

I'd found a counselor months ago. They'd suggested drugs, which I rejected hands down. They'd suggested talk. They'd suggested that I explain myself to her. I tried. The explanation hurt. How do you tell someone that there's no way around ruining your shared life?

The solution: you just ruin one life; you try to save the other.

I didn't want to destroy what I saw in Bella. She'd blown into my life all beautiful and innocent, smart and poetic, and insightful as fuck. I tried, but I couldn't look away. I loved her in a way that was new to me. I loved helping her. I love listening to her. I loved being in the same room with her and feeding her and watching her sleep.

And, oh my fucking god, I loved fucking her.

She made me breathless. She made me believe in fairy tales. She gave me this youthful hope that I could do anything that I wanted… or almost anything. I could only fight myself for so long. The only thing she wasn't bigger than was the short circuit in my brain that would lead me down the rabbit hole.

Bella deserved better. She was born with a different fate than my mother had been. She was made of stronger stuff. She was the strongest woman I'd ever met, and she wasn't even twenty. She'd move on. She'd fall in love over and over until she'd settle down and find someone that wouldn't throw her down a set of stairs or strand her on a street corner.

The longer we were together though, the more obvious it became. I couldn't be the one that left. I had no problem pushing people away in the past to keep them out of my line of fire, but here I had the person I loved most in the world, the woman that loved me completely and without reservation, and I couldn't let her go. I couldn't keep her safe. She was as vulnerable as she was strong, really. She wouldn't protect herself. She let me in and held me there, and it was my comfort in the darkness. I was selfish. I took.

After all, I was my father's son. I'd watched him pull this with my mother and I hated him for it. I grew up with arguments, tears, disappearances and unexplained injuries. My father could sweep us off our feet, and then, weeks later, he'd lose his job and try to throw my mother in front of oncoming traffic.

I thought of Bella and bit my lip and let the blood run down my throat. I'd let our relationship get away from me. I'd tried and monumentally failed at keeping her at arms length. As if she'd let me.

She was out there right now, in the library, defying me by staying… and by watching MTV, for the love of god. She defied me both by watching Downtown Julie Brown and by loving me. I fucking loved her.

But fuck, now, at nineteen, she'd become the infamous lover of an unstable rock star. She'd been fodder for the tabloids. She'd been maligned and scrutinized and scorned.

My solution? My fucking brilliant way of dealing with the fall-out of inserting myself into Bella's existence: I shut myself away rather than face her. I ignored her. I waited until she was in class to leave my room. I waited for her to find the strength to leave while I collapsed in on myself.

I told myself that it was only a matter of time before she'd bail. I kept myself in check by sleeping through the pain. I didn't touch her, I didn't talk to her, I didn't let myself tear her apart. She'd go. Eventually. I was relieved for her and I was bereft.

Days passed slowly, then quickly, then crawled again. Darkness held me. Alice's calls went unanswered. My single was scheduled for release. It wasn't the single I'd suggested, nor was it the arrangement I'd suggested. It wasn't anything I'd suggested.

Nothing.

You could hear a pin drop.

Nothing.

I focused on.

Nothing.

xXxXx

"Edward?" Bella asked, from somewhere near the bed.

I held my breath. Hadn't I locked the door? I didn't answer. I prayed she'd leave.

"Edward, please. I can't take… not talking."

She wasn't going to leave. She was stubborn, but so was I.

"Talk to Alice, or Rose," I spat.

"I want to talk to you."

"I don't fucking want to converse, _Bella_."

No, if I were honest, I just wanted to look at her. It had been too long. Days upon days, perhaps weeks. I didn't fucking know. I closed my eyes, willing her to leave. She opened the blinds instead.

"I want lots of light for this," she said in a sing-song voice, mocking me and accusing me all at once.

I groaned. I was an ass. I was leaving her to the wolves. I couldn't face my own life: the mess I'd made of my career, of my friendships, of us: Bella and I.

I couldn't look at her. I wanted to look at her.

"Look at me," she demanded.

"Fuck," I groaned. She'd always been able to see right through me.

I felt the mattress shift underneath me as Bella perched on the edge. I shuddered as her hand sought out my shoulder. Her fingers were small and delicate… lovely. Fucking lovely. Her nails were always chewed to the quick. From the day we'd met she'd always painted them midnight blue or black. The things those fingers wrote… she'd have a life without me. She had so much potential, so much more command of her life and her destiny than I'd ever had.

"Edward," she begged, her face so close to mine.

Blink.

There she was, and I drew a ragged breath. Her cheeks were pink and full, her eyes were bright, and her thick hair spilled around her shoulders. She was so much healthier than when I'd found her two and a half years ago. I'd helped, and now I was pulling her under. She needed to get away, but it was already happening.

Blink.

Her cautious smile lit the room.

Eyes open. Eyes focusing. Her fingers brushed my cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What the fuck for?" My voice was rough and unapologetic.

"All this… stuff," she said, clearly impatient with me.

I snorted and shook my head. I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes. "Don't fucking ask for forgiveness when it's not your fucking fault."

She was stronger than that. She should leave.

"Jesus, Edward. Get over yourself, okay?"

"Oh my fucking god, Bella… This shit isn't about me! It's about _you_. I never wanted this. Never. I never meant for any of this..."

Her hand found my knee, arresting all possibility of speech.

"Just don't make me do it alone, okay?" she asked quietly. "Don't lay here alone. It doesn't have to be this way. It shouldn't be. You're in there; I know it. The same guy that… I know how you feel about me."

The last part came out like a dare. I took it. I glanced at her. She was angry… and scared. She was frightened of me, my room, our lives – what they had become. And she was determined. I wanted to ask her to stop, but I wanted to hear her say it.

Bella looked me in the eye. "You love me," she said in this very calm and determined voice.

She was right. I did. I loved her - possibly from the moment we met, when it was fucking illegal.

She put her hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to deny it.

"You do. I know you do," Bella insisted. "November 22nd, 1989. You said that you loved me, you selfish prick."

"Bella -"

"Not to mention, you let me stay here - over and over and over again. Even now. Even in the middle of this shit-fest. You love me."

Didn't she get it? None of that mattered. I had to make her understand.

"Bella, I'm an asshole. I won't fucking take care of you. I won't fucking listen. I'll just virtually screw with you at every fucking step. I'll ruin the confidence you have. I'll destroy whatever goodness I found inside you. I'll -"

"Are you depressed or are you an egomaniac?" she screamed, stopping my morose train of thought cold. "Do you think you're god? Well, you're not! You're just Edward Cullen. You like berries and weird contemporary music and the beach in the rain. You have a weird mark at the corner of your mouth. You have a little scar on the shaft of your penis… and one day I'm going to fucking find out how it got there!"

"Bella -"

"You're in there, Edward. Don't tell me you're not underneath all of this filth and shit."

That's where I had her. That's where Bella was wrong. I stopped hiding underneath my forearm. I let her see my face.

"You're looking at me, Bella. There's nothing else inside. I'm not some goddamned onion where you can peel back a layer and get goodness and light."

"But I still… Fuck it. _I_ love you, Edward! A lot. You're the only person I've ever felt this way about. And I'm not letting go, okay? I'm not. I won't. I can't."

"It's not fair to you," I practically shouted.

"Then get help and make it fair!"

Been there. Done that. No dice. I closed my eyes. And as much as I should have said the words, I couldn't bring myself to actually say that it was hopeless. I didn't want it to be hopeless. I was unforgivable.

"I can't do this alone," she whispered.

"I know."

"Try to stay with me?"

"I did," I croaked.

I'd never tried harder at anything before in my life. I never tried harder. A voice told me to try harder, but I didn't have the energy. I was scared. I didn't know what I was trying or doing or saying yes or no to… my head swam and it was too light in the room. The sun shined around Bella like a halo… like heaven… and it reminded me of the first time we'd fucked, and suddenly, for the first time in forever, I wanted her again.

My dick stirred, my heart shuddered.

It was so fucking wrong.

Very, very fucking wrong. I was selfish. She'd think it meant I was going to try. I knew I wasn't. I couldn't.

I pulled her face to mine and her tears wet my cheeks.

"I love you," she rasped against my lips. I took her love. I was an asshole. She loved me… the best, most intelligent, most original, most beautiful person I'd ever met. I took her.

I undressed her as she tore at the sheets and tugged at my boxers. I felt her on top of me, sinking onto me, fucking hot and wet and soft and… Bella. Christ.

"Fuck," I mumbled, as I fell, as I spiraled, as she opened for me, as she blossomed despite the suffocating pain that surrounded us. I loved her and I may as well have been cutting her open with a knife.

"I love you," she mumbled.

"I know, baby. I know." I kissed her back as she rocked and cried.

"You love me, you asshole," she insisted. "Say it. Tell me."

"I love you," I agreed. I did. I'd never said truer words. I could give her that: a larger knife to carve out her own heart.

She moved faster, but I tipped her backwards. I climbed on top of her. Her eyes were wide, brown, bottomless… scared. And I fucked, I let her know, I fucked, I told her, I consumed her, I threw all of the bottomless pain into fucking. It's not what she'd asked for… she asked for love… but all I could give was pain. Pain. Drowning in pain… giving it all to the girl that tried to save me. Giving it all to the girl I never wanted to destroy.

"Fuck."

"Edward."

"Christ."

"Edward!"

"Shit."

"I… I… I, plea -"

Coming. Breathing. An asshole. A fucking asshole. A fucking asshole.


	2. EPOV Outtake for Fandom for LLS

**There is a Light – Outtake for Fandom for LLS**

By belladonnacullen

beta: MaryJaneStew

pre-reader: KikiTheDreamer

banner: fuzzyltlwingedthing

**April 1990**

**EPOV**

It rained for days.

I was cold.

I was gone.

Check and lease. Check and lease.

My duty done, I was gone.

I rocked in the bed in a room in Times Square. I closed my eyes. Black and calm. It never lasted. I woke to the bottomless pit in my stomach. I woke to madness. My mind spun, trying to move through mud.

I jerked off. I lay in the sticky mess. I tore the sheets off the bed.

I pressed my face against the windowpane, then I opened it wide and I was drenched. The cold rain almost cleared my mind.

I remembered Bella – alone, crying, naked. I remembered yelling… me yelling at Bella. Me fucking Bella. I leaned on the windowsill for support. Check and lease; my duty done. I hung my head out the window and watched drops dripping from my hair. Rain pattered on the base of my skull. Water blurred my vision, running over my eyes. Running.

I remembered lying naked with Bella for weeks in a bed: her smell, her body… her sad eyes searching for something from me.

My dick brushed against the sill. I was hard for her.

Someone whistled. I was naked. I'd forgotten.

I searched for clothes, but left the window open. Rain puddled on the dirty carpet. The rush of cars on wet streets was soothing, until it was like nails on a chalkboard. Each pass hurt. I closed the window, but I still heard the cars. I punched the window. I beat the window. I used elbows and fists and my head. Pain felt satisfying, but I still heard the traffic below. I slept shut up in the bathroom, with a towel blocking out the noise that snuck under the door. The tile was cold and smelled like piss.

I woke to the feeling of wanting her; to the pit, the madness, Bella's face, her pussy. Pregnant.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

Bella.

My bag was by the door, full of clothes. Bella had watched me throw clothes while curled on the bed. Her tits were like triangles. Crying. The door.

Leave.

Clothes… boots… door.

I walked in the rain through Times fucking Square.

It was loud and crowded and wet. Neon lit puddles green and stomach churning purple. I ignored traffic lights. Car horns blared. I kicked at tires and headlights, I shouted. People moved out of my way.

Head down, I reminded myself. Head down. Hood up and head down. I moved down avenues, penned in by buildings, like a rat through a maze. My feet pounded concrete, knocking my brain around inside my skull, jarring pictures loose.

xXxXx

"_Edward, I think I'm pregnant."_

"_You can't be."_

Relief had passed over her face. I'd almost smiled. Then it all fell apart.

"_Wait. Why not?" _she'd asked.

xXxXx

I knocked over a trashcan. I kicked it into the intersection. Brakes squealed. Someone swore.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

I know when. There's only one time close enough. I know when.

Angry and forceful, I'd made her frightened. I'd fucked her hard. I'd fucked her so fucking hard that it hurt her. I'd wanted to hurt her; she'd said she wanted more of me, and the only thing I'd had to share was pain.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

Mission accomplished.

Souvenir shops were stocked with shit. A finger was all it took to tip over the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, or to knock big apples to the ground. Hands slapped at teddy bears, Easter chicks were tossed in the trash.

"Get out!"

_I think I'm pregnant._

I raised my fist.

Words were spoken in frantic Hindi. A shop owner pushed. A phone call was made. Glass was broken. Chicks, trash, glass, shouting. Blood. Drops of blood pattered onto the ground, swirling with dirty rainwater. I was shoved into the rain; tripped over stuffed animals and plastic tourist junk.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

I pushed people out of my way. A woman's umbrella fell into a puddle. Her pants were soaked to the knees.

"Asshole!"

Red and blue lights flashed. Hood up, head down, I walked over wet pavement. My pockets were full. My hands were bloodied. I shook glass from my hair. I was drenched.

I remembered Bella… drenched. She was just a child that I didn't leave alone. I didn't walk away. I remember Bella in my limo, skinny and defiant. I didn't leave her alone. I ran back. I ran away and ran back and I knew what I wanted. I remember Bella topless on the couch, reading and giggling, and Bella bottomless on piano keys, cumming for me. Finally, Bella naked on my bed drenched in light. My little everything.

Just everything. Not mine. She was never supposed to be mine.

I'd pretended.

Bella had pulled me out of the studio, pushing away reporters, her top slipping sideways, cameras flashing. After waiting years, that moment turned her into the little girl I'd fucked. She didn't deserve it. She was never little. She was the only person big enough, stubborn enough not to give up.

Bella.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

She didn't deserve it.

xXxXx

"_She doesn't fucking deserve this_," I'd groaned, with my back to Emmett. He'd been there. He'd talked to the accountant. She had the check; she had a lease. She was fucking pregnant.

"_I told her about that place where I took Jane, but she wouldn't listen."_

"_She has to."_

"_No, Edward. I don't think she does."_

"_She has to!" _I shouted and punched the wall.

"_Calm the fuck down."_

"_No."_

"_You're acting like a child, dude, and you're going to have a child. That's a problem."_

"_Not if I can fucking help it!"_

"_It's not your choice."_

xXxXx

I couldn't help it.

My mother had watched me spin out of control. My mother had waited in waiting rooms as I was counseled. My mother had cried herself to sleep.

I wasn't going to let that happen again. I let that happen again.

"_You can't be pregnant."_

"_Why not?"_

I'd been on top of her, between her legs. She smiled and wrapped herself around me. I loved her. She made me happy. I'd waited… for nothing. I wasn't going to let her get away from me again. There was no reason to wait.

"_Bella, are you -?"_

"_Are you kidding? I am."_

I'd pretended I got my answer. I wanted inside every way possible, I wanted to feel her. Fuck latex. I was an asshole.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

"_You can't be."_

"_Why not?"_

I'd covered her with my cum.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

"_You can't be."_

"_Why not?"_

I fucked her ten times in a day, maybe more.

Why not? There was no fucking reason on earth why not.

xXxXx

There was a phone in the hotel room. I knew Emmett's number better than my own. I paced, I tugged at my hair, I swore, I shook. I hadn't eaten. When had I slept?

He was concerned. His eyes zeroed in on the bruised knuckles and the scrapes. Then they fell on the glass-covered hoodie.

"I need you to make an appointment for me with your guy uptown."

The fucker laughed, but it sounded sad and worried. He wasn't amused. "It doesn't work like that, Edward. You can't take it back, man. She's still knocked up. Deal with it."

"Fuck you."

"Well, it's true."

"You don't get it. I need to do this."

Emmett lowered his voice and took a couple of slow, careful steps in my direction, like he was dealing with a caged steer. "I don't think you're in any kind of state of mind to make this -"

"I _need_ this," I interrupted. "Do it."

"I'm not calling, Edward. You don't fuck with your junk when you're -"

"When I'm _what_? What in the fuck are you going to say I am?"

Say it. Say I'm insane. Say I'm out of my goddamned mind. You want to see in-fucking-sane?

Emmett knew me. He didn't take the bait.

"Fuck you, Edward. I'm just trying to help."

"Then help. Then call. It's all I want."

Emmett threw up his hands, and turned to go. "_That's_ all you want? A surgical procedure? That's all you fucking want? You're an asshole."

I didn't hesitate to agree. "Yes." I was an asshole. I was worse.

"No fucking way."

I found the number on the nightstand, left as a challenge to my sanity. I knew how to use a goddamned phone. Five cups of coffee and some weed and I was almost normal when I showed up for the appointment… that I made for myself.

Hood up, head down. The receptionist tried not to stare. I kept my battered hands in my pockets. I waited.

"You're a bit young to even consider this, Mr. Cullen,"

"Family disease. Genetic stuff."

"But are you certain, son? With advances in medicine, things are liable -"

"I'm certain. I'm no kid. I'll sign anything. I've got cash."

I wanted pain, but came away with only bruising and a dull ache, like I'd been kneed in the balls. It wasn't enough. I searched the hotel room. There were no razors, no lighters, no knives. Emmett was thorough.

There were stores. I had money. A few dollars and I could have anything.

I remembered my mother crying. I remembered my mother alone.

_Bella._

xXxXx

"Is she?" I asked, trying not to cry.

"_With Alice_," my mother answered. "_Where are you?"_

"I don't know."

"_Come home, son."_

"No."

"_She needs you. She's scared and alone_."

"Why'd you let me do this?"

"_You love her. You should be with her_."

The pain in my mom's voice tore through my chest. I wasn't just leaving her this time. This time she was watching as I left Bella. I was finding new ways to kill my mother.

"Talk to you later, mom."

"_Edwa -"_

I hung up the phone. I couldn't listen. I was trapped.

xXxXx

I found a bar. I found liquor. I drank until I was sick to my stomach. I retched, emptying bile into the alley, and then went back for more.

"Not on your life, Buddy," he said to me.

There were other bars. There was always more booze. There were corner stores with razors; there were old haunts with needles. Pipes. Knives. Powders. Rocks. There was cheap malt liquor. I fell. I stumbled. I wandered into another bar. They showed me the exit.

I bummed cigs by the door. I found matches. I burned T-shirts and seared skin.

Sick…Wet... Sitting… Pissing.

"Move along, Son," the officer said, kicking at my feet.

"I'm not your son, fuckface," I slurred. I spat. I closed my eyes. The world turned. My eyes opened to flashing lights. Men barked into walkie talkies. People wandered closer. Handcuffs dangled.

I was pulled to my vomit covered feet, pushed against a wall, my pockets patted down.

My name was thrown out. My name was repeated. My name was passed along the chain of command. I threw up. Vomit splattered on the bricks, dribbling downward. A lighter touch and a cautious hand made sure I didn't bang my head as I was seated in the back of the car.

My name was on the intercom. Edward M. Cullen.

"A little too much to drink tonight, Mr. Cullen?"

I leaned my sweating forehead against the wire mesh. I pressed my hand against the window, trying to brace myself.

"Figure I'll give you a chance. My kid loves that last song of yours. You know the one…"

He tried to sing. I tried to keep the bile down.

And there I was, and the cruiser was pulling up to a building. My head spinning. My building, blinking in white and red. The building where I'd left Bella.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

"_You can't be."_

"_Why not?"_

I gagged.

"Not in here, Son. Let's get you out."

Outside there was tumult. He walked around the car. There was an ambulance and lights and people running. He opened the door. They were all in it together; taking me in. There was my mother, crying, and Alice.

The doorman saw me. He pointed. I ran and tripped and ran. I scrambled through the park. I found a dime and found Emmett and fell.

xXxXx

Waking. Blinking. Bright light.

White sheets. Dull pain between my legs. Sick to my stomach.

Shielding my eyes, I searched the room. I wasn't at the hotel. Yellow sunshine had replaced the rain; it highlighted the beige walls and the drab carpet and it settled on a stuffed Easter chick that was oddly familiar.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

"_You can't be."_

"_Why not?"_

I'd fixed the future too late. I searched my balls for a scar.

"_I think I'm pregnant."_

I groaned and rolled on my side. The stuffed chick watched me.

I curled around myself and swallowed back the bitterness. I rocked. I bit my lip. She was pregnant. She was pregnant. She was nineteen and pregnant.

I made her a millionaire. She'd be fine.

She'd have my child.

She'd be fine.

She could do anything.

She'd be fine.

She'd have my child.

I'd have one child… with Bella.

There was a knock, then a creaking hinge, then cautious eyes. "You awake, Cuddles?"

Thank fucking god, I was in Emmett's apartment.

"Another night like that, Ed… can't do it. Okay?"

"Fuck."

"You're telling me."

He sat on the bed. I curled tighter.

"How is she?" I asked the wall that the chick was leaning against.

"Who?"

"You know who."

"How'd you know?" he asked in this virtual tiptoeing voice, like his words were walking on broken glass.

Broken glass. Bloody water. Full pockets. It was the chick from Times Square.

"Have you seen her?" I asked.

Bella… pregnant with my baby… the only one I'd ever have. I plucked the chick off the windowsill.

"I talked to Alice," he began hesitantly. He cleared his throat. "She's gonna kill you. Fuck the vasectomy, she'll go for the balls. Full on castration."

"I… she's taken care of. Is B-, _she_… okay?"

I loved her and she was having my baby; a little thing that was part Bella.

"Well," he hedged, and then huffed. "She's not gonna' die."

"What?" I asked. Maybe the kid would come out all right. It was half Bella.

"It was close. Lot's of bleeding, like inside, I guess."

Broken glass. Bloody water. Easter chicks.

"What?"

A kid. My kid? A disaster, possibly.

"Wait, I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" I asked.

"Shit."

"What?"

"Dude."

"Emmett."

"The pregnancy went really, really wrong, Edward. She's in the hospital. Transfusions, i.v.'s, surgery I think. The whole nine."

"She's…"

"She's alive. She's going to be good, eventually."

"Is she pr…?"

"No."

I closed my eyes and let the darkness pull me under. It was all over. I wasn't coming back.


	3. May 2007 EPOV Outtake

**A/N: Completely un-beta'ed, so all mistakes are mine. KikiTheDreamer cheered me on as always, though. I've promised EPOV lemons & needed to get this off my plate before starting something new... I hope you enjoy Lightward circa 2007.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>May 2007 - New York City<strong>

Nine hours, fifty-seven minutes. I don't know how the hell I'm going to pass the time.

I shower. I daydream. I jack off.

Nine hours, twenty-three minutes.

I know the exact time until her arrival in New York with frightening accuracy. I'm using my cell phone's timer function. I've obviously lost my cool with age. I chuckle as I think about my thick-rimmed glasses lost in a drawer somewhere – they were anti-cool cool. She used to like my glasses. I put in my contacts anyway, though. She also used to like when I'd scream on stage in front of ten thousand people. I'm not that guy anymore.

I think she likes me anyway.

I wander through rooms. I open and close the refrigerator. I've had the food shopping done for me. I should have done it myself. I think it would have meant more, even though she'll never know. I'd tell her if she asked. I'm blatantly honest with Bella. It's too late to be anything but honest.

I pull my phone out of my pocket.

Nine hours, one minute… and counting.

It's not too late to make dinner reservations somewhere. Then, after dinner I could get us a suite at the Waldorf. Or maybe she'd prefer the Gansevoort. Yes, she'd definitely like the Gansevoort. The thing is, I don't want to pretend any longer. I don't want to fuck around.

It scares me shitless, but this is about more than a fantasy fuck – I want her in my life. In my home. This is real. At least, I'd like it to be.

Eight hours, fifty-nine minutes.

xXxXx

I find myself in the library, trying to read. Instead, I only manage to stare at the tome in my hands – a copy of the volume I'd mailed to Bella some fifteen years ago. They say books will soon be a thing of the past, but they'll forever have a place on my shelves. I've always been an avid reader, but now, even better, I have my sights set on a novelist. I have each of her books, and all but one is signed. The unsigned book is missing its title page. I don't open that one often. It's hard on the soul.

I also have most of the magazines that she's been published in. In fact, have multiple copies of a few. I'd show up at newsstands at five a.m., eager to get my hands on the edition as soon as possible… and then I'd receive another one in the mail from Alice. I'd keep both – one unopened in plastic.

Jesus.

I'm not as obsessively unhinged as I sound when it comes to Bella. That's what I tell myself, anyway. Of course, there _is_ that matter of mental illness. Never mind.

I wonder if she'll wander into the library tonight. I wonder if she'll look for copies of her novels. I wonder if she'll lie on the couch next to me and let me take off her top.

What would I quote to her this time around?

I have no cool left – we've covered that fact. I wouldn't have the composure these days to quote lines from poems. I'd have the tip of one tit between my lips, and a hand down her pants. Fuck the books.

No, fuck Bella, instead.

Shit. I hope I don't say something like that tonight.

"Fuck me, Bella."

I shudder at the thought.

I hope she lets me fuck her.

Eight hours, twenty-three minutes.

xXxXx

I sit, remembering the way we'd lay and savor one another on this very spot – innocent and erotic all at once. I'd watch her watching me; I'd watch her hands as they tentatively touched – probing, learning. I remember so vividly the feel of her skin against mine, and the patterns clouds made as shadows raced over cream. Her lips ghosted over my torso; her fingers tugged my hair, her breasts were soft in my palms, and her nipples were tight between my lips.

I whispered love poems and waited. I teased her and loved her all at once, using the words of others because I was frightened.

Scared half to death is more like it. I'd wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anyone or anything before.

I want her more, now. I want her differently. I'm prepared to give whatever she'll let me give. I understand what that means. She's the only woman I've ever really wanted. She's everything.

And I have a fucking chance. I think.

Eight hours, seventeen minutes.

xXxXx

"_Daddy?"_

"Lizzy. How are you, love?"

"_I'm cold, because it's cold today, and I miss you a lot."_

"I miss you too, Baby."

"_Is it cold in New York too?"_

I glance out the window even though I know the answer.

"No, it's warm and bright here. There are yellow flowers outside my apartment building and I saw butterflies in the park."

"_Calendula flowers?" _she asks.

"Daffodils, I think."

"_Lovely_," she murmurs.

"Not as lovely as you are."

She laughs. I smile.

"_When can you come back to London, Daddy?"_

"Two weeks. Do you know how many days that is?"

There's a pause as my daughter counts in her head.

"_Fourteen, right?"_

"Exactly. I'm counting down day by day… on my phone."

I don't mention that I'm also counting down the hours until a flight arrives from San Francisco. Elizabeth doesn't know about Bella, and every time we speak I have to hold myself back from telling her. I want so much to explain that I like a girl. I've wanted to introduce the two of them for years. Maybe someday… the possibility is closer than it's ever been.

"_What about if you come in seven days instead, Daddy?"_

"I wish, Liz."

"_Okay_," she sighs. "_What are you doing today?"_

"I'm making dinner."

"_You make dinner every day!"_

"I'm making dinner for a friend."

I wince at the lie. Bella and I aren't friends. We've never been friends. We're connected by heart and spirit; we're made to come together at the hips.

"_Aunt Alice?" _Elizabeth guesses.

I'm a whisper away from explaining that my friend's name is Bella and I've known her for years and love her dearly, but then I remember Kate.

"She's a writer I know," I hedge.

"_Oh."_

"I love you so much, Baby."

"_I love you too, Daddy."_

"I'll call you tomorrow night, okay?"

"_Okay. Night."_

"Night night, love."

xXxXx

I try a walk in the park to help calm my nerves. My psychiatrist has emphasized for years that exercise can stabilize moods. I've learned to listen to my psychiatrist, and as a result the park vendors know me by sight. I'm surprised I haven't tread ruts into the pavement.

Walking through the park is all I have the will to do, though. I'm not a gym kind of guy. I don't do treadmills. Thankfully, I don't suffer much for it. I have precious little to be grateful to my father for – but his tall, slim physique and full head of hair are two items on the extremely short list.

I can't imagine Bella would choose to spend the night with a fat, balding, mentally unstable, retired rock star.

Will she settle for mentally unstable and retired?

I work on the mental instability twice daily. This morning, with about nine hours until Bella's arrival, I took one pill for sanity and another for normalcy. I'll take two more about an hour before she arrives. Hopefully neither will get in the way of my plans for the evening. It's hard to imagine that any combination of pharmaceutical drugs could fuck with fucking Bel-, I mean, could get in the way of my desire. But I'm not one to take chances anymore, especially tonight. I have another bottle of pills at the ready, just in case.

Fuck me.

Mentally unstable. Retired. Medicated. Unsure.

I remind myself that the lines running across my forehead make me look distinguished. The silver at my temples means that I'm serious and wise. Retirement allows me to chair several non-profits and produce albums when I want to. I'm good-willed and eccentric, not simply unemployed and pharmaceutically lobotomized.

And I have a bottle of pills at the ready, because I'm just that cool.

There aren't enough park paths in the world to calm me down.

My cell buzzes in my pocket. I wrestle it out and glance at the screen. There are six hours and forty-three minutes until Bella's in New York - and Alice is on the line.

My heart leaps. Not at the thought of Alice, of course, but due to her choice of travel companion.

"What is it?" I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

Alice doesn't mind.

"_I'm just calling to remind you that your pass is at Will Call. She still insists on dropping her bag at the hotel. Seems silly to me, but you know Bella. When she sets her mind on something, she's stubborn. Some things never change, I guess. So, we'll meet you at the Y_?"

"Is she with you?" I ask breathlessly. The possibility of knowing with certainty where Bella is at any moment in time makes me irrationally excited; like the first time I saw Patti Smith at CB's, (except I was never in love with Patti Smith). Either way, I feel about fifteen years old.

"_Not yet. She's with Seth, stuck in traffic_."

"Fuck," I mutter.

"_Hey, hey, no worries, Edward. They're close. She's not going to miss the flight. Believe me. I won't let her miss this reading. I'll send out a helicopter to pluck her out of traffic before I let that happen_."

Actually, I hadn't considered that Bella might miss her flight. It's just that I tend to swear at the mention of Seth Motherfucking Clearwater's name.

Or Seth. Just Seth. Bella loves Seth. He's good to her in a way I never was able to be.

I won't lie, though. It bothers me to no end that I needed another man's approval to sleep with Bella. If I let myself dwell on the fact that the man in question is Seth Clearwater, I become irrationally angry.

From the beginning, when Bella sat with me on the piano bench and told me about her close friend that had slept in her bed every night for nearly a year (for god's fucking sake), I could feel how important he was to her. She spoke of him with confidence and a clear feeling of comfort. There was a permanent place for Seth in her heart – he was someone dear. He was a friend.

I was something besides a friend.

I'd worked at being Bella's protector, but that night in 1989 I was beyond that, or below it, perhaps. I'd moved into the role of troubled letch. Bella and I were far removed - separated by age and circumstance and my deteriorating willpower. Discovering one another was similar to what I imagine discovering the new world must have been like – finding something so very different and new, yet remarkably similar, all at once.

Seth was like Bella's home. I was America. As far as I knew, she just wanted to get into my pants. She looked up to me. She'd crushed on me as a kid. I was an unworthy hero.

And what am I to her now? Who knows? If Alice does, she's not telling.

Alice. Shit.

"_Edward? Hellooo? Edward?" _Alice calls on the other end of the line.

"Alice. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"_My phone keeps cutting out. So annoying."_

"Fucking cell phones," I quickly mutter to cover up the slip of mind. I rub my forehead, praying that I'll be able to hold a coherent conversation with Bella this evening. In my home. At my dining room table. In my bed?

"_Oh, Edward, she's here! Hey, I've got to go. See you soon!"_

The line goes dead. The stopwatch function flashes.

Six hours, twenty-six minutes.

xXxXx

I start early dinner preparations with calm certainty. I may be shit when it comes to emotional stability, but food and flavor don't change with chance fluctuations of brain chemistry. They're variables I can manipulate with confidence. I relax and enjoy the feeling of peace that's trying to make inroads into my mind as I watch my hands at work. I know instinctively what to cook: something understated and delicious, something that says home and comfort... something I want to taste on her lips.

I've paired dinner with the perfect wine. I hardly drink these days, but I know Bella savors a good bottle. I've investigated and come up with something light and dry, with earthy, savory notes. Tonight I want to see her eyes twinkling in the candlelight and the blush rise on her cheeks. I can count on wine for that. Of course, I'd prefer to be the one to bring that out. I want to be the thing that makes her happy instead of the thing that hurts. I want to rank higher than a bottle of wine.

I've always known it was a long shot, but somehow I've never been able to quell the hope that she'll look on me with love.

I channel that desire into the food I'm preparing in a sad approximation of _Like Water for Chocolate_. I concentrate on peace, calm, and contentment and try to hold on, but it's a losing battle. I bite through my lip and taste the salt and copper of blood in my mouth.

I grip the counter. I brake for a glass of water and try to steady my breathing. It doesn't work, so I leave the food where it lies and escape for air on the rooftop.

The sun is high and yellow, and there's new warmth in the air bringing the promise of the summer months and the inevitable passage of time. I pace. I breathe. I stop short.

Of course, the little, roofless cabana is still there, empty and unused. It stands as a home for old memories of debauchery… and mania… and light… and love.

She'd said she wanted sex in the sunshine. I've always given her everything I could give. Back then it wasn't much, but I could find a way to give her sun-soaked sex. I waited until a day when I knew she'd be gone until the evening. With one phone call to Alice, a groan on her end, three men with some hammers and saws, and seven hours – it was done.

Bella came home after dark and I undressed her and fucked her against the library windows. When the sun rose, I wrapped her in a sheet and led her onto the rooftop.

"What?" she asked, giggling, pulling the sheet tight, her bare feet padding on cold concrete.

"Oh my god!" she chirped when she saw.

I pulled her inside and closed the door behind us. It still smelled like sawdust. There was a tag dangling from the wrought iron railing of the daybed.

"Edward?" she asked, looking around. Her big brown eyes glittered with mischievous understanding.

She let the sheet drop. I pulled her into a patch of sunlight. Her fingertips traced the outline of her tit.

"Fuck me?" she asked.

It's been many years, but it's about time. I unlatch the door and wander inside with burning cheeks and a half hard cock. The low platform couch or day bed or whatever tactful term they'd given it is long gone. With high glass windows and without a roof, more than twenty years of cold, damp air has been caught inside. Once there was a space heater and there were piles of blankets. We'd never really minded the cold, though, and sometimes not even the rain.

Leaning against the weatherworn wooden wall, I remember one misty morning in late fall. I remember running naked into the drizzle. I remember the way her damp skin felt as it slid against mine. I remember the way her pale skin went pink where I held her. I remember the way the rainwater and her arousal made my cock stutter as it slipped inside… and the way she shivered as I entered her, and how hard and cold her nipples had been.

I remember… and I don't think I have to worry about my back-up bottle of fucking pills.

I have to get back to dinner, though.

I have two hours, eleven minutes.

I leave the door open on my way out.

xXxXx

Charlotte arrives to monitor the food with a not so subtle roll of her eyes. Granted, it would probably be easier for everyone to let Charlotte handle dinner on her own, but I won't let my attendance at Bella's reading get in the way of cooking. I have one night. One chance. I have to cover all of my bases. I have to give this the best chance possible. I clutch at a dishrag and close my eyes. Charlotte clucks and shoes me out of the kitchen.

I pick through my wardrobe… again. I clip my fingernails. I floss my teeth. I purposefully avoid shaving because I've noticed that Bella likes stubble. I rub a hand over my jaw and close my eyes. Pictures of more indecent jaw rubbing invade my mind: her belly, her breast, her inner thigh…

I make my way back to the bedroom – to my bedroom, to Bella's old bedroom. I can practically see her old backpack and the pile of notebooks she'd keep on her desk. I must be out of my mind with my plan to bring her back here. Right, I am out of my mind. My only consolation is that Bella knows this about me and she's coming anyway… And that sometimes she smiles when she sees me. And that with each visit she smiles more… and talks more… and touches more. And that she says she spoke with Seth.

One glance at the carefully made bed, though - with its clean sheets and straight, stark lines, and it all feels wrong. I barely resist the urge to tear at the bedding. A messy, unmade bed is more along the lines of our shared past. Shouldn't we laugh and tug at one another's clothing and fall into a heap of disheveled blankets? Shouldn't we fuck all night and then wake to insistent fumbling and naked breakfast?

I think we should.

I think I'm too nervous to laugh. I think it's been long enough since I've been with a woman that I may actually fumble. I think I'll leave the bed the way it is.

I sink onto the mattress. I glance at my phone. Less than an hour. I count ahead, factoring in the reading, the cab, dinner and polite conversation. Will I make it back to this bed? Will Bella come with me? Will I climb on top of her and pull off her clothing and make her as happy as that will make me?

I fall backwards and close my eyes. It's nearly like the first time. I was so fucking scared that afternoon; strung like a live wire, burdened with doubt and the responsibility to do right by her. But then fucking her, being inside her, pulling her on top of me… She's what started to make everything better in my life. She made me want to be better, but then…

_No._

_No, no, no._

Fuck.

I will my mind to sweeter places. I remember the first time I tasted her. I remember her inner thighs pressed on either side of my face. I remembered the way her muscles tensed and her body shook… that tiny little gasp and the hitch in her breathing. Then, soft and slow… then gilded memories are outlined in golden light. Her smile. Her eyes. Her small hands framing my face.

"Are you?"

Her nod. Her trust.

I don't want to fucking cry. It's been years. Not since Elizabeth was born.

Life is easier without desire. Life is easier when you don't know what the fuck you want. I know what I want in my life. I don't think I can die happy without her.

xXxXx

Twenty minutes.

I've hailed a taxi. I've brought flowers. Irises – her favorite.

Seven minutes. I'm still blocks away and I feel claustrophobic inside the stinking cab, and I'm highly doubtful that the traffic will let us pass. I'll be stuck here, just blocks away all night. I pay the fare and walk the last twenty blocks. I tell myself it's for the benefit of my mental health. I pretend I wasn't too unhinged to ride the rest of the way. I'm outside the Y when I realize I've left the flowers on the back seat.

Her plane should have landed twenty-nine minutes ago. I don't chance missing her. I don't look for another bouquet. Despite my mental instability, I arrive before Bella.

She's late. The flight's late. The audience is filtering through the lobby and finding their seats. I stand in a corner. I scowl at my phone like it owes me answers, when in reality it's the one that's alerted me about her flight, the only one that was willing to give me traffic reports, and also provided me with a text from Alice so I wouldn't lose my shit.

_Bella's nervous, so hold it together, Ed._

I'm holding it together. Alone. Backstage at the 92nd Street YMHA. My nerves are dancing. My hands feel empty.

I've intentionally left her novel at home, but now I'm second-guessing myself. I know it's been my tag line at these things for years: "Tell me this isn't about me."

It isn't… about me, that is. It's always been about her, or perhaps us. Tonight it's definitely about her. I gaze out at the audience. For an author, I don't think it gets much bigger than this. Easily, a couple thousand murmur as they wait expectantly. I'm a face among so many. I'm probably the only one present that's caused her pain. Who the hell do I think I am?

There's a flurry of activity near the back entrance and a sudden crowd of people. I know this moment from years spent onstage.

I spot a brown head of hair in the crowd. I catch the flash of an eye.

"Edward!"

Negative 63 minutes. She's here. My instinct says to throw stagehands out of the way, but I hold myself back and politely brush past until I see her clearly: her smile, her dancing eyes, the way she nervously brushes her hair from her eyes. I resist the urge to run like a fool, but my footsteps come quickly. And she's in my arms; so warm, so soft, smelling like sunshine. Breathing hard, her face against my neck.

"I'm late," she huffs.

"Your flight -"

"And then traffic."

"No helicopter?" I ask, laughing a little, running my nose through her hair.

Bella grins up at me, scrunching her eyebrows together. "Helicopter?"

Suddenly Alice is at my side and she elbows my ribs. "Ignore him," she instructs Bella.

"I don't think so," Bella replies, clutching my hand.

"You ready, Ms. Swan?" someone asks.

She searches my eyes instead of answering.

"You'll be amazing," I assure her.

She searches my face and clasping her hands behind my neck goes up on tiptoe. Bella leaves me with a kiss - soft and full of promise.

"Ready," she finally replies.

xXxXx

I don't know what time it is. I haven't looked at my cell since Bella's arrived. I have no way to gauge the time, and honestly, I don't care to. Right now I care that she's holding my hand. I care that she seems embarrassed by her introduction, which is just now drawing to a close. The MC is praising her latest novel, and Bella clutches at my hand for dear life, her breathing short and shallow.

I want to reassure her, and three words spring to the forefront of my brain. I have no doubt what I want to say in this moment, but it's all wrong. It's what I want, not what she needs. I settle for a gentle kiss on her forehead. I cradle Bella's face in my hand. I bring her body close to mine. It feels right. It feels perfect.

"Thanks for being here," she murmurs.

"Anything for you."

We exchange another calming kiss.

"I've been waiting for your line," she teases.

"I'm an idiot, Bella. It's taken about ten years to figure out that it's not about me."

"You're wrong," she offers with an insistent smile. "It is, Edward. Always."

"Ms. Bella Swan!" the MC announces and we're awash in thunderous applause.

Bella looks alarmed.

"Go," I encourage, peeling her arms from around my waist. The applause builds as Bella takes the stage.

My heart swells. She looks so small, but her physical size is deceptive. She's a force of nature. She's unstoppable. Her words touch the souls of thousands around the world. Bella on stage… I'm in awe. I'm swept up in the excitement. I need a seat.

"Like a rock star, huh?" Alice quietly asks, circling an arm around my waist, nodding at Bella.

"Better," I counter.

"Kind of full circle, in a way."

"What?" I ask.

"Well, I mean, you two. It all started when she saw you on stage."

"And now it's ending the same way?" I ask.

"It's not the end, it's just the appropriate resolution."

"Things are far from resolved, Alice."

"Don't be dense. It's resolved where it matters." Alice places a palm over my chest.

"… _And then, at the end, he was physically there and my heart beat double time. He'd always been with me, but now the touch of his hand and the sight of his blue eyes made my feelings for him multiply, until I was certain I might burst."_

"_Shh," my mother warned. "Calm, down honey. You don't want your heart to give out."_

_She didn't get it, though, because if my heart chose that moment to expire, it would have been fine. I had lived in love, and I ended loved back."_

There's a moment of silence when I hold my breath. I let Bella's words settle in my soul. I've lived in love, and I've ended loved back.

I love her more for those words.

I want those words to be about me.

Seconds later and the air shakes and the stage vibrates with thunderous applause.

Bella sits on the stool provided, smiling shyly, her hands folded in her lap.

A minute, an hour, an infinity later she's sitting next to me in a cab. Her fingertips barely brush against mine. I worry. About what? It's not worth the words. I'm seated next to Bella in a cab. She's coming home with me. I should be ecstatic. I could blame the meds (these days I'm never quite ecstatic) or I could blame myself – my past – my life and my brain. Or I could get over myself. I could give myself a chance.

I curl my fingers around hers and I tell myself I wouldn't let go. Her head falls against my shoulder.

xXxXx

After all of my prep work, neither Bella nor I can eat more than a few bites. Bella looks so jumpy that she might as well be sitting atop a pile of pins and needles. She appreciates the wine – a lot. We haven't spoken much, but her eyes speak volumes. She's studying everything, and I'm afraid she's lost somewhere between the past and the present. I want to ask her how it all compares to her memory, yet I'm afraid to give voice to those times… but I'm the one that's brought her back here. I've thoroughly confused myself. The only certainty I can find is the fact that she's seated next to me.

Bella smiles nervously, her head inclined in the direction of the nearest speaker. Her nerves visibly subside as she listens. Her breathing slows. She notices me watching.

"_Explosions in the Sky_," I inform.

"They've put what's happening in my stomach to music," she laughs. She blushes. She glances at her lap.

She hasn't changed. I'm so in love.

"Your impressions have always been priceless."

I look for her eyes, but they're still interested in her lap. "I can't fucking eat either," I announce, pushing away my plate. "We gave it a good try, though."

Still unwilling to speak, Bella sips at her wine. I'm lost. This was the part of the evening that was supposed to be relaxed and easy. This was where the banter would surface; where one thing would lead to another. This was the part I'd been confident about: the give and take. What now? What if we don't know how to speak to one another?

A cherry tomato glances off my nose.

Bella erupts into a fit of giggles.

Well, when in doubt… I chuck the little thing back in her direction, purposefully missing her head. She ducks anyway.

"Are you going to try to tell me that you're not the one throwing tomatoes again?" Bella asks, and my mind conjures up a misty memory of the two of us seated at the same table we are this evening… where we threw tomatoes and I tried to impart knowledge of some sort or the other.

"'_It's just you reflected in me, Bella Swan'_," Bella intones in a deep, raspy lothario kind of voice.

I suppress a groan. I've embarrassed myself in retrospect.

Bella raises her eyebrows, prompting me.

"If you just took a good look at yourself, Bella," I quote myself quietly, trying not to smile.

"I think I've done quite a bit of that over the years," she informs me. Her foot brushes against mine underneath the table. I'm surprised. Bella's eyes are intent, her cheeks rosy. She's leaning forward and small wisps of hair frame her face.

"Then you know how lovely you are," I murmur.

"I see who I am quite clearly… and I see you, too."

Her hand reaches. My foot slides.

"Do you see us together?" I ask.

Bella hardly hesitates. "Yes."

xXxXx

Y – E - S

Yes.

From there the talk flows freely. From there there's wine and more giggles. From there, there are offers to help clear the table and fingers touching. From there we talk about everything and nothing: art and literature, raising little girls, San Francisco versus New York, politics and gay rights.

We agree about the important things and I appreciate the way her mind works to persuade me when we have different points of view. I like her. I really like her. She's beautiful and funny. She's so wrong when it comes to 1990's political science.

"Clinton was an amazing president," she insists.

"He was the embodiment of corporate America masquerading as a leftist," I argue.

"He kept the economy moving forward while he held true to his values," she counters.

"What values? Plunging Central America into poverty?"

Yeah, I know about NAFTA. I've had plenty of free time on my hands.

"He protected us from the moral majority!" She's growing indignant. Her eyes flash. I enjoy arguing with Bella.

"You just have a thing for older guys," I tease.

"Shut up," she says, giving my arm a playful shove.

"Bill Clinton or me?" I challenge, raising my eyebrows.

Bella looks shocked, but recovers quickly.

"Well, I mean, he _was_ the president," she says with a sly smile and a giggle. Of course, a giggle.

"Get out," I laugh and get up to refill my wine glass. Bill fucking Clinton.

She moves closer. "You really want me to go?" She leans on the back of the sofa. I can see the tops of her tits.

I remind myself not to say, "Fuck me, Bella."

Instead, I place the glass on the bookshelf and slowly make my way to her. Bella doesn't back away. She straightens her body and her eyes meet mine. I hold the back of her head in my hand. I press my lips to hers. She doesn't leave, but her body relaxes into mine, and I thank fucking heaven. We make out against the back of the couch. I'm careful not to push, even though every cell in my body pleads to consummate this courtship already. The bedroom seems half a world away, but I don't want to fuck her against the couch, or even on the couch.

Bella pulls away. I remember to breathe. "I need to use the restroom," she mumbles, smoothing her dress. Her hair's now half up and half down – disheveled. Her cheeks are rosy and her nipples hard. Christ.

"Be right back?" she says. It comes out like a question.

"If I'm lucky."

Bella smiles. She almost laughs. And then she strides away. Moments later I hear the click of the bathroom door. I lower the lights. I move to the bedroom. The air feels stifling and I open a window. The rush of cars below and the rustle of wind through the leaves in the park are both quiet and calming. The bedside lamp is dim.

I turn when I hear the clatter of her heels pause at the doorway. Her eyes are wide as they sweep from the bed to the windows, to the wall, to me. She's the same girl I brought home from the surprise New York show. She's the girl trying to seduce me when she came home from class in the rain. She's the woman I pursued across decades. She's all of it. More than ever, she's everything to me.

"Hey." I can only manage one syllable.

"Hey yourself," she says as she joins me in front of the open windows.

"It's all changed," she murmurs glancing outside, and she could mean the skyline, or the room, or the two of us.

"Not everything," I insist, nuzzling her ear. Her lips slide over my jaw. Her chest heaves.

I'm no longer cool, but I'm lucky - my brain still works. It recalls the book of poetry I'd been trying to read in the library this morning. I know she'll recognize what I'm about to say.

"_You don't know how longingly I look upon you_," I murmur.

Bella's eyes grow bright with understanding and I'm emboldened to continue as I hold her in my arms.

"_You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, _

_I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, _

_All is recall'd as we flit by each other..."_

Whitman's words and the way her body melts into mine lend me borrowed confidence. I push a strap down her arm so I can run my lips and jaw from neck to shoulder without interruption. I speak the poet's words to her skin. She shudders and I pause. Her forehead is creased and I long to comfort.

"_Fluid_," I murmur, my lips smoothing the space between her eyes, and she raises her face to answer with a kiss.

"_Affectionate_," she quotes back when our lips part.

I feel rewarded. My mouth meets her skin. I find the spot behind her ear that I remember she likes. My hands fumble with the clasp of her bra, and she pulls away from me, her hands hiding her chest.

"_Chaste_?" I ask aloud, wondering if Whitman saw into the future and Bella and me when he was writing this poem.

Bella doesn't quote back. She's wary and nervous. She's… different. She's never hidden her body from me before. Christ. She's nervous. We're both fucking nervous. Doesn't she see that I love her entirely? Of course, she doubts.

My heart hurts.

"Matured," I continue quoting, because Whitman's words are appropriate, and I can't imagine what else I might say. But no, I don't need to imagine. Almost unbidden, every adjective I might personally use to describe the woman before me falls from my lips, and we kiss and grapple and both fumble a little.

"_You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return_," I continue. "_I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone_."

Bella pulls away from my grasp, putting space between us, walking backward toward the windows. "No, Edward. Don't -"

"Every night," I assure her. "Even when I tried so fucking hard to forget. I thought of you every night and every morning."

I step forward. Bella steps back. We walk a step at a time until she rests against the sill. Her eyes are glassy and she blinks. I push the hair from her face. I hold the back of her head, cherishing, hoping my belated love can ever, somehow be enough.

"_I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again_," she whispers.

My heart surges with possibility and I wait for Whitman's last line, but her lips are swollen and still. The last line, the promise, lives between us, acknowledged but unspoken.

"You know the ending," I say.

Bella subtly nods her head and turns away from me. My soul lurches. My hands fall to my side.

"_When I heard at the close of day…" _Bella quietly quotes to the night air. "I get it now."

Is she saying… I can hardly hope. I try not to dwell on the possibility. I try to explain myself, instead.

"I'm never as happy as I am with you," I confess, wrapping my arms around her.

"_And his arm lay lightly over my breast_," Bella whispers, interlacing her fingers with mine.

"_And that night I was happy_," I finish. Happiness. She's happy. I'll settle for happiness. It's still too soon to end with promises of forever.

"So was I," Bella agrees, leaning her body against mine.

"Sleep with me, Bella? Let's be happy tonight."

xXxXx

She agreed. Clothing lost. She agreed. Feet tripping. She agreed. Hovering over Bella on the bed. She agreed.

Legs, arms, fingers, lips, wrapped around one another. Her eyes twinkling and her cheeks burning. It's not the wine. She's happy. She agreed.

"Love," I manage.

"Shh," she replies. I'm not a man to argue with someone handling my cock.

I concentrate on her tits, I find my way between her legs, and I'm pleased and proud that she writhes like she used to and I don't want to wait any longer. It's been years and I don't need pills and Bella is here with me in my bed and she's fucking famous and I make her happy.

And I stop. I take a moment. I've wanted this forever.

Her hair is wild about her face. She's all peaches and cream against the brown bed sheets. She's soft. She's fucking beautiful. She's got great tits and a little waist and a brain that blows my mind.

"Edward?"

Christ, she kills me with my name.

I hold her face in my hands. I wait for her. And slowly, we find our way back together. Slowly she kills me. Slowly she makes me burn. Slowly, she opens me from the inside out and I can no longer hide anything.

Words, uttered from deep inside fall from my lips.

She pants and swears. She holds me tight. She arches her back and offers her throat.

Heels dig, hips buck, hair is tugged, and she slips against me, as I slide between her thighs, as fingers press, as she hisses and coos and nips… as, as – as… as we both shudder, as we both hold on tight, as I show her how much I've felt for her always.

Pinned beneath me. Panting. Parting.

I don't want to let go. I don't. I keep her close as I cover us both with blankets to protect from the cool spring air coming through the windows. She's bathed in starlight. She's happy. She smiles as I play with her hair. It's me, not the wine, and I'm more pleased than I could ever explain. She agreed. She's here. It's been six hours and thirty-seven minutes since she's touched down. It worked. My life is on the verge of complete.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow she departs for San Francisco and the countdown will begin again. Tomorrow I'll call Elizabeth. Tomorrow life will go on.

It can't go backwards. I can't let her slip from my grasp. Tonight is a beginning. Tonight… I think about the possibilities, I dare to dream about how we can make this work, and I want her again. I kiss and I press, but I'm losing her; she's falling asleep.

"I love you, Bella," I whisper. It's the closest I can come to verbalizing what's in my heart. It's inadequate, but it's true.

"I -" she murmurs, snuggling close. "I -"

Silence invades. Her thoughts die in her throat. My chest aches. Once again, I'll commence waiting. Only this time my phone won't be any help. There's no way of knowing exactly how many minutes remain between now and the moment Bella's ready to let me into her heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Dedicated to my Nutbunny. xoxoxo<strong>

**Happy Holidays! ~BDC**


	4. Daddyward Outtake  April 2004

**A/N: Some of you may have already read this. It was first published as part of a charity fundraiser last fall. Thanks to my team: SereInNC, KikiTheDreamer and KennedyNicoleCullen for beta and pre-reading prowess!**

* * *

><p><strong>One More There is a Light EPOV Outtake<strong>

**Present Day - April 28****th****, 2004**

Sometimes I want _her_ to see me – here, in the park, while Elizabeth's laughing on a swing, kicking her feet out and singing under her breath. My daughter gets that from me – not the kicking out her feet, but the singing part. I do it often. Elizabeth and I whisper songs. We share little gestures too: the roll of the eyes, the raised eyebrows, her bitten bottom lip. Joy.

I know it again.

I want _her_ to see it.

I want her to know that I wouldn't have found it without her.

I wish I could just…

I don't finish the traitorous thought. I practice keeping my thoughts averted on a daily basis. There's no reason to let them drift.

We haven't spoken in years.

She's moved on. I wanted her to find happiness, and she'd said that she had. And when I saw how she'd gained confidence, an easy smile and awareness of exactly who she was in the world, she'd had me convinced. She'd gotten over me.

And she'd acquired a fiancé.

She'd done what I thought I'd never been able to do. She loved someone else.

xXxXx

**April 11, 1998**

"Time moves forward, Edward, but you hold yourself back from participating by getting lost in your past. You re-live it over and over again while you're incapacitated in the here and now. You have nothing to anchor yourself to today, to 1998."

Tanya had been so patient with me. She was willing to sit with me week after week, year after year, and recite basic principles of astrophysics and humanity: Time marches forward with the turning of the earth. Regular people march along with it. Regular people do not shut themselves up in dark rooms and obsessively relive 1989.

"I can't let it go," I muttered, my head in my hands.

I couldn't let _her_ go. I hadn't let her go. I wouldn't -

"But you lived it, Edward. That relationship - everything that happened between you and Bella is part of you. There's no letting go. It simply is. It will exist inside you – always," she insisted.

"It doesn't feel that way when I let myself get swept up in -"

"Living," Tanya interjected, trying to finish my thought appropriately.

She was wrong, though. I wasn't living when I tried to forget. I was holding other hands and entertaining other smiles. I was fucking other women.

I sighed. It never felt like living. It felt like preying.

Tanya's eyes were too kind.

"Perhaps if you could hold onto something…" she mused.

Yes, hold something._ Her_ wrists. _Her_ hips. _Her _hair.

Her heart.

"Perhaps if you could make the past somewhat tangible, you wouldn't be afraid to live."

Making Bella tangible… I was immediately caught up in the remote alchemistic idea of conjuring Bella in the flesh and magically making her amenable to spending the rest of her life with me. I only half-heard Tanya's idea about the journal.

Her reasoning was simple. If I wrote my memories down, I'd never lose them. I could move forward without fear of forgetting the past.

It certainly wasn't Bella, but that journal allowed me to immerse myself in every glorious, sun soaked moment we spent together. I had clinical permission to lie on my bed and dream about the way the shadow of the rain danced over her pale skin on cloudy days. I wrote about her eyes, her smile… every naked inch of her, not to mention that fantastic mind whose brilliance shone from her eyes, fell from her lips, and streamed from her fingertips. I fell in love with her all over again. I jacked off to her memory like a man condemned to death.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Let me down, Daddy!" Elizabeth calls.

Shit.

I grab the chains, ease her to a gentle stop and kiss the top of her head before she skips across the playground to the jungle gym. She doesn't charge at things like other children her age. Elizabeth takes her time. I watch as she picks her way carefully – climbing metal rung over metal rung. She's such a cautious and curious little girl.

A boy twice her size knocks into her as he scrambles past and my heart leaps into my throat. I want to kick the shit out of him for nearly trouncing my little girl. But he climbs quickly away and Elizabeth continues her cautious ascent, unfazed. She's tougher than she looks. I have to remember that.

I've learned so much from her. She's always equanimous like that. Things slide off her back as she keeps looking forward.

Things slide off my back: Kate's accusatory glances, her sighs and sideways looks, the way Alice works not to mention certain aspects of her life.

Things slide off my back, just like they did the first time Alice met Elizabeth.

xXxXx

**Spring 1999**

Not used to small children, Alice kept her distance. I bounced Elizabeth on my knee and my baby girl's big, blue trusting eyes gazed into mine. I may have made baby noises. I probably stuck out my tongue. Then, for the first time ever, Elizabeth smiled. It was a big, uninhibited smile that only a newborn can give. My heart fluttered and I babbled some more, and Elizabeth gurgled and smiled and shit herself.

I laughed as I looked for the diapers and the wipes. I was giddy. My life was complete. I'd made the right choice. I did things over and did them right this time around… and I was happy despite the dribbled shit on my knee – perhaps even partially because of it.

"Is she happy too, Alice?" I asked, wiping at liquid poop.

"She's kind of a mess, but the little squirt looks happy - smiling all goofy like that while you wipe her ass," Alice chuckled.

"Not Elizabeth," I corrected.

I heard Alice catch her breath and glanced up to see her hand covering her mouth. We'd had an unspoken agreement that I'd just violated.

"Well," Alice hedged, fidgeting, casting her eyes away from mine. She shifted from foot to foot. "She says she is."

Elizabeth gurgled and waved her fists and I went back to the task at hand. I gave Alice space to answer.

"They ended it a while ago, Edward. She couldn't go through with it."

"Ended it?" I asked quietly, my heart suddenly bouncing uncomfortably.

"The engagement."

Elizabeth smiled and blew a milk bubble. I was afraid my heart might bounce away and tear my chest apart.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Daddy, look! I'm so high!"

I waive back and smile, then give my daughter the thumbs up. She takes a seat on a rung and leans back with her hands held behind her head. Her fine brown hair flutters across her face. She's always been fascinated by the world above. Anything dreamy, like clouds or fog, manages to draw her into daydreams. I worry about the other climbing children knocking her from her perch, but for now, they give her space.

I take a breath, lean against the iron fence bordering the playground, giving myself permission to reflect and relax like my daughter. Kate, Elizabeth and I have done what I'd never imagined possible: we've made a life together. We're a family. I'm a stable, paternal figure – someone Elizabeth runs to when she scrapes her knee or loses her doll. Someone she can count on.

We eat big breakfasts on Sundays. We pop popcorn and watch movies each Saturday night. We go on holiday together each summer. We all hold hands like dorks as we walk through Harrods each year at Christmastime.

When she was an infant, Kate and I took turns rocking Elizabeth to sleep. We were there for her first steps. We brought her to her first day of primary school together. Elizabeth was frightened and clung to me with her thin little hands. I knelt down and whispered in her ear that I knew she could pull it off. I _did_ know that. She _could_ pull it off. Even though she didn't know it, she took my word for it and took her seat and waited quietly for a cue from her teacher. Her trust in me was humbling. It made me a better man.

Elizabeth didn't have my eyes, or my nose, or my chin. She certainly didn't have my natural disposition. She had learned things, like my mannerisms. She had a way of twisting up her mouth and speaking with my American accent. She had my heart and soul. She had me wrapped around her finger, gladly.

xXxXx

**Christmas Eve, 2001**

"You weren't ready then, Edward," Tanya insisted.

"I wasn't ready to be a decent human being? That's bullshit."

"I thought we'd put this behind us."

"I just wish…" but my voice trailed off, unable to admit out loud what I wished.

"You can't change the past. Instead, _you've_ changed. Look at the last few years of your life – how far you've come. When we first met you had trouble walking down the street. You were so wracked with guilt that you refused to let yourself feel anything but pain."

"This life… I was wrong, Tanya. And now the time's past and…"

The clock ticked. My foot bounced. Finally, Tanya spoke.

"And what?"

I struggled putting words together with emotions. I'd tamped down my feelings for so long that they were near impossible to verbalize.

"And… and the time's fucking past."

I'd seen a picture of Bella and her old friend from high school in a magazine. It had been taken at her movie's premiere only weeks ago. She was stunning, smiling, proud. Her arms were flung around her friend's neck as he held her off the ground with one arm. He was supposed to like other men, but he couldn't seem to keep his hands off Bella - ever.

"Fuck," I growled and kicked at the leg of the chair I was seated in.

Nearly fifteen years later, I was still jealous of a gay man half my age.

I'd only managed to hold onto small pieces of Bella: an old Specials T-shirt she'd once worn, the memories held in my journal… and now a photo of her looking beautiful taken just fourteen days ago… living half the world away.

I hadn't been there for her. I wasn't supposed to be there for her.

I was where I was supposed to be - living in London with my daughter and my wife.

Kate and I wouldn't be watching Bella's film – ever. Bella didn't exist in our world. It was no accident. Kate's feelings went back nearly as far as my own when it came to Bella Swan.

xXxXx

**May 17****th****, 1989**

_**Merry Christmas, Bella. It's cold here in London. I hope you're warm. I hope you've figured out how to use the flue so you can have a fire. I hope you've found the closet with the extra blankets. It's in my room if you haven't.**_

_**Sometimes I wish I could look out the window and see you staring back so I know you're safe and warm and that you've been eating and sleeping… **_

_**I haven't given you the opportunity to write back and I miss the reassurance that brings. I miss your voice. I miss the way your words look on the page. I miss the smudges your hand makes as you write. I miss the paper that's been touched by your fingertips. **_

_**We've hardly spent three hours with one another, but I miss you more with each passing day.**_

"Who the hell is Bella?" Kate demanded, holding out the postcard that I'd never sent and apparently hadn't hidden well enough.

I grabbed it out of her hand. It bent, nearly tearing at the corner.

Instead of the postcard in my hand I'd sent a different one adorned with a picture of the snow-covered Parliament building. Instead, I'd written:

_**Stay warm. ~Edward**_

"Who the hell is Bella?" she demanded again.

"Mind your business, Kate," I spat, retreating to the bedroom, looking for a spot to stash the incriminating missive. Kate followed, pushing open the door.

"This isn't my business?"

"_She _certainly is not your business."

"Who the bloody hell is Bella?"

"She's no one, Kate. She's staying in my place while I'm gone."

"The child?" she asked in disbelief.

I closed my eyes. This was not a conversation I wanted to have, ever, with anyone, and certainly not with Kate Denali, of all fucking people.

"She's not a child."

Bella wasn't a child. She was eighteen. She was living on her own.

"Don't talk in fucking technicalities, Edward. Not while you're living in my flat and sharing my bed. This is not something you should be writing to a child, and not while we're – what we are."

"You can't tell me what to write and what not to just because -"

"Just because, what? Just because you've been staying with me for three months? Just because you sleep with me each night? Just because you said you were finally willing to commit? Because you said I was perfect for you?"

Kate was right. I'd done and said all of those things. After years she was clean and she lived a normal life that was safe and steady. She was pretty, funny, and she knew the business. We had a history.

Oh, and she was five thousand miles away from the girl living in my apartment.

She wasn't the girl in the apartment, though.

My face must have said it all.

"You didn't mean any of it, did you?" she asked, sinking onto the bed.

"I did."

"Stop it," she sniffed. "Just don't. I'm such an idiot."

I sat down next to her. The space between us felt empty and sad.

"I tried," I offered.

"You're sick, you know that?"

I didn't know how to respond. I had a medical record a mile long that would attest to the fact that I was indeed, sick.

"She's going to get you in trouble."

"Emmett calls her Trouble," I mused.

"Emmett's a smart man. You're a wanker."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

Elizabeth and I walk back home hand in hand. It's too early in the year for a proper spring day in London. We're still in coats and hats, and her hand is cold in mine. Despite the cool weather, we walk somewhat slowly.

Her mother should be back tonight. She's taken to spending more and more time abroad… for work. Nothing's happened between us to push her away. Nothing's happened between us for some time. Actually, there's a marked lack of passion in our relationship – angry or otherwise.

Kate and I discuss Elizabeth together. We live as a family, instead of as a couple.

Self-awareness has come with time. I'll never regret taking responsibility for Elizabeth, but I understand that in an effort to finally make the right decision, I've cheated Kate yet again. Only this time, I've involved a very young, very innocent human being.

She holds my hand. She holds my heart. I don't want to let go.

xXxXx

**August 1998**

Kate had asked to meet at our favorite pub. She chose a booth near the back and sipped cranberry juice and soda water with a silly grin on her face. She pulled at stray strands of hair, giving away her nerves.

I waited. I knew Kate well enough to know that given the opportunity, she'd say what was on her mind without prompting.

"I'm pregnant."

Her voice was bright. Her smile came easy. It was one of the last things I'd expected her to ever say.

"You look happy," I observed. I'd never pictured Kate as a mother, but I was glad she was so pleased at the prospect.

Her hand reached for mine. "Edward, I'm pregnant," she repeated.

Her eyes were insistent, imploring me to understand. _Shit._ She thought… Did she really think?

"Did you ever think?" Kate asked. She squeezed my hand. She ducked her eyes, glancing towards her midsection.

No, I'd never thought.

"I know you always said you didn't want kids," she seemed to say to her abdomen. "I know you always worried. But we're solid, right? Like friends, even more than a couple. Don't you think we could do this? We're older… wiser. _Our_ child? Crazy. Right?"

Kate was hopeful. She held her breath. She held my hand in a vice-like grip.

"Our child?" I asked.

I'd only have one child. Ever. Once… a long time ago... when I was a different person.

I blinked back tears. Kate leaned across the table, misunderstanding.

"You'd be such a good dad. I'd be a mum."

"But… we -"

"We've fucked around forever, Edward. Over and over, back and forth across the Atlantic. We're not getting younger. I love you. You _know_ I love you."

"Do you?" I wondered out loud.

"How can you ask me that?"

_Because it wasn't my child._

"I really want this. I want _us_," she explained. "And these past few months, well, it seemed like maybe you did too."

It had been easy to fall back into a relationship with Kate. It allowed me to move forward and backward at the same time. I got to move on without moving past Bella. Kate had always been on Bella's periphery; pulled into Bella's orbit against her will.

I'd never given Kate a chance. I'd taken advantage of her. I'd let her circle and enjoyed the comfort that brought. I'd been sleeping with her on and off for a year. Lately, I'll admit, it was more on than off. I hadn't bothered with anyone else. It wasn't worth the effort.

"You really think _I'm_ the father?" I asked.

Wide blue eyes played at shock. "Of course."

"Just tell me the truth."

Kate's smile was brave. She managed to look me square in the eye.

"I've never wanted anything more."

"I can't have children, Kate."

"Because you're scared, but I know you'll be good at this. I know you. I've known you for so many years."

"Why me, though? Of all fucking people."

"You're a good man and I've loved you forever."

She had loved me – for years. It had to mean something. After all, I'd loved Bella for -

Kate pulled her knees up to her chin and peered at me, nervously waiting to see what I'd say. A blink and a flash and I saw Bella curled in a ball on my bed, waiting for a response that never came. I saw myself breaking Bella's heart.

That's when I knew that I had a choice. Kate was handing me the chance to make the right decision. I could move on. I could be a father. I'd never have another opportunity.

There _was_ an outside possibility that the child was mine. Vasectomies weren't one hundred percent foolproof. More than that, Kate _wanted_ the child to be mine. She wanted me. She knew me, she accepted me, and she still wanted me.

Bella wanted someone else.

"Okay."

"What?" Kate asked in a whisper.

"Let's do this."

It felt right. Moving on.

"Yeah?"

I felt myself nodding my head. I gripped Kate's hand back.

"Yes."

"We'll be parents together?" she asked.

"Even better. Marry me."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I was there for Kate like I should have been for Bella. I was able to do as much because I'd been trying to get my head on straight _for_ Bella for years. Of course, I'd ruined that possibility and Bella had moved on. Left adrift – on the straight and narrow without a purpose, I latched onto Kate's pregnancy. I focused on this new life that was generously offered to me. I worked to prove myself a decent human being. I worked to make a meaningful life, for myself and for this tiny girl in my charge.

I was the best father I could be.

I wondered whether Bella's unborn child had been a girl.

I treasured my daughter. Elizabeth liked to spin little tales that I'd write down: dreamy fairytales with angels and fairies. I treasured them and turned a few into little songs.

I wanted to send them to Bella.

Of course, I knew that communication would probably hurt Bella as much as anything I'd ever done to her in the past. That is, if she still cared.

I wanted to think that she cared.

It was a useless, foolish hope.

One thing was becoming more apparent with each passing day, though. Tanya was an amazing therapist, but I was a hopeless case. I'd always be in love with Bella Swan. There was no moving on when it came to my heart. I needed to find a way to end things with Kate once and for all.

It turns out that I'd already set the ball in motion. With a few stolen minutes and a computer monitor recklessly left on, my old journal would manage to severe my ties to Kate for good…

~Fin~ (for now)…


	5. Future-Take November 2016

**A/N: Written months ago for the SU4K compilation. Beta'd by SereneInNC. Finally uploaded by me... A TiaL future-take. I like seeing E as a father-figure. Seth doesn't...**

**Saturday, November 11, 2016**

**EPOV**

Saturday mornings are soft and warm and very, very long: soft skin, soft down, warm limbs and breath, and stretching from sunrise to infinity – or at least until eleven. Our bed is perfect, with a large, firm mattress, comfortable pillows, peace and quiet, and one another. Linens changed like clockwork on Fridays are still fresh on Saturday morning, and just worn in just enough to gently fold around tangled limbs. On Saturday mornings I open my eyes to rediscover the sleeping body of my love, my wife. Each Saturday morning I silently recite Whitman before pulling Bella close and surrendering once again to midmorning slumber.

_For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover… I was happy._

On weekdays Thea has school and Bella, out of a sense of habitual industrious duty has herself up and out of bed and in front of a computer monitor by nine. Abandoned, I feel every inch the slouch. I pick myself up with the help of a cup of strong black coffee. I find a newspaper and go in search of my daily purpose. I'm on my own until lunch, and if Bella is caught up in the middle of a story I'm alone until Thea bounds through the door at four.

Thea spends Friday evenings at her father's place, to be returned to Bella and me on Sunday when we all sit down together and share a meal. Saturday morning, then, is a celebration. It gives a flash of respite from the drudgery of the week. Saturday mornings are the mornings I dreamt about for weeks upon years upon decades. With the workweek behind her, Bella gives herself Saturday mornings to sleep, or to sleepily make love, to smile and laugh. She gives her Saturday mornings to me.

Sometimes, afterwards, there are newspapers and books in the mix – we're old school and prefer printed text to electronics. Sometimes there's fresh coffee and scones with honey. Sometimes our mornings stretch clear through to the afternoon. We eventually remember the importance of light and open the blinds. I savor the sight of her skin in slanting early afternoon sunshine. I could spend hours watching the patterns of leaves as they slip up a thigh or across a breast.

We lie together and talk… of politics and philosophy, friends and associates, family near and far, or share a joke we heard three days or three decades ago. We've spent enough time apart that we could tell stories of our separation from this until the last Saturday I'm alive without repeating an incident more than twice. Then when the sight and scent and feel of one another becomes too much we take a break and come together, fall apart and start over again.

Saturday mornings are my favorite mornings of the week. However, this Saturday morning was something of a departure.

~0~0~

"Shit!"

I felt the mattress bounce. The comforter was thrown off. Chilly autumn air shocked me awake.

"Edward! You have to get up!"

"Very funny." I tugged at my covers and wrapped an arm around Bella's waist in an attempt at pulling her back into the bed with me. Her slender frame and bare tits beckoned. We've spent too many years apart. Time is not on our side. There's much to make up for.

Bella allowed a kiss - at arm's length. "You have to go," she protested with a push.

"Come on. Is my breath really that bad?" I tried for another kiss, but instead Bella stood and started rooting through discarded clothing.

"No, not your breath. You've got to pick Thea up from ballet class."

"What? Since when?"

Bella's robe was soon found and her bare skin disappeared beneath mounds of terry.

"She mentioned it before school yesterday. Seth and Jared have something or another important to get to and Thea specifically requested you. I forgot. Alice was breathing down my neck about my deadline, and then there was the wine you surprised me with to celebrate, and, well, your… _seduction_."

Bella's smirk and the shimmy of her ass was enough to pull my body to the edge of the bed.

"My seduction's worth shit. You're in a robe and I'm alone in bed."

"Seriously, Edward, you've got fifteen minutes to get yourself downtown."

I stalked across the room and slipped my hands underneath the folds of my wife's robe. I can be a jealous man when I don't get my way. I fumbled with the tie as I groped and tried to summon that seduction she'd been speaking of. Bella's hand slid beneath my waist and I felt momentarily vindicated. I led her toward the bed, eased the big, blue robe from her shoulders and pulled her onto my lap as I slid back onto the mattress.

Bella offered her lips before leaning her forehead against mine.

"Thea's going to be extremely embarrassed if you show up without your pants on."

I stared hard, willing the situation to change. "You're serious?"

"I'm sorry, Edward. I forgot. Thea needs a ride."

I sighed, defeated and Bella climbed off my lap and went for the closet. Hangers scraped. A drawer opened.

"You should come too, then." I decided. "We could all get brunch. There's that new place in The Castro you and Alice are always going on about."

"We could, but she asked for you, honey. She said she wanted a Dadward day."

Thea knew how to get her way.

~0~0~

Dadward was a name spoken in times of desperation and in times of dearest love. Nine and a half times out of ten I'm "Edward" to my stepdaughter, but I'm Dadward when she's nursing a broken heart, or home sick from school, or when she absolutely has to have a new pair of boots.

To be clear, I'm not looking to steal another man's daughter. Seth is everything Thea needs in a father. He wears his love and pride for his little girl on his sleeve. He's her guardian and her rock, and God knows he doesn't let her get away with half the shit I do.

But my bond with Bella's daughter goes deeper than words and has lasted longer than her years. It has its roots in times Bella and I no longer speak of - times when I feared I'd ruined her heart and left her insides barren. Thea is my relief. She's my Obama – my hope; she's my promise that the world can sometimes be set right again. Thea can't really understand how her mere existence affects me, but "Dadward" is a clue that she feels a hint of it all in her heart.

The nickname started as a sleepy mistake. Bella was out of town and I'd let Thea stay up late with me to watch a documentary about The Clash. One question led to another and before I knew it we were talking about what it was like when I was a kid in New York City. She asked about my favorite show: (Patti Smith at CB's), my biggest influence: (The Dolls eponymous album), the rumor that I'd dated Debbie Harry: (I'd actually shot her down the one and only time we met - just minutes before I'd found Bella waiting for me backstage).

Thea's eyes lit at the mention of her mother, but her excitement didn't match the sudden uneasiness in my gut. Memories of Bella as a hungry, homeless teen brought with them buried dread.

"Which time was that?" Thea asked eagerly. "The first time you met Mommy at your show or the second?"

My throat tightened remembering a young, defiant Bella, skinny as a rail. I'd been overcome with anger that she'd left home without telling me and I was simultaneously disgusted at my own despair, which either pointed to insanity or immorality.

"What was she wearing? Was she pretty? Was the back of her hair shaved like in that one picture?"

Sitting across from Bella's daughter at the dinner table, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm my nerves. I focused on Bella and worked to push my own darkness aside. "She was always pretty."

"And you always loved her?"

That was an easy, if somewhat disquieting, question. "A million times more than Debbie Harry."

"More than Patti Smith?"

I smiled. "Of course."

"More than…" Thea began, but her voice faded. I opened my eyes to find her twisting her hands in her lap, unwilling to look at me, like she'd adopted my own uneasiness. "More than…"

I waited, but she didn't go on.

"More than anyone, Little One."

Kate Denali's unspoken name took a seat at the table with the two of us that evening. Somehow heartbreak had managed to trickle down from one generation to the next. I wasn't certain what Thea might have heard or whom she had heard it from. Thea and Lizzy were friends; they'd spent months together every summer until Lizzy turned eighteen. Then there was Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, Bella, Seth and the entire worldwide fucking web. I couldn't compete. I'd made a well-documented mistake that I wouldn't take back.

Thea peered at me, her face still downturned. She folded her arms on the tabletop and rested her chin. I slid around to her side of the table, pushed her ginger ale out of the way and Kate along with it, and wrapped an arm around my stepdaughter's tense little shoulders.

"It was the second time," I began in a quiet voice. "For a year I'd been living on your mom's letters without really knowing it. When the letters stopped coming, then when I couldn't find her, I… I - I'd grown attached to her words in a way that's hard to describe, Thea. Each of her ideas was simply… _new_… to me, at least_._ They made me want something real. They made me want more from my life than I'd allowed for – more than real sadness and artificial happiness and keeping everyone at arms' length. More than anything else in the world I wanted your mother to offer me a glimpse of her soul again.

"So you can only imagine how Bella looked to me when I saw her in the crowd that night. She was more than pretty, and not just on the outside, but deep down inside of her where those words she'd shared with me came from."

As I'd spoken, Thea had relaxed until her body was resting against mine. I felt the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. I covered her hand with my own and she turned her palm up and curled her fingers around mine.

"I liked her more than anyone," I assured as I kissed the top of Thea's head. "She's the only woman I've ever loved."

Thea leaned her head against my chest. "Okay," she replied sleepily.

"It's time for bed, Little One."

Thea nodded a little, but her limbs were heavy, so I picked her up and she buried her head in the crook of my neck as I carefully made my way to her bedroom.

"Night, Little One," I whispered, tucking her into bed.

"Night, Dad." Her big brown eyes opened and we both stopped, suspended in that moment. "Dad- _ward_. Edward."

"Good night, sweet heart. I love you."

"I love you too."

~0~0~

_Dadward._

The benefit of the doubt.

_Dadward._

Acceptance in the face of imperfection.

_Dadward. _

I'd somehow, undeservedly been blessed with two daughters without donating DNA.

_Dadward._

"Edward," Bella prompted impatiently.

_Dadward._

A Saturday lost.

"Coming," I sighed.

~0~0~

Ballet classes were not my idea. They were in full swing long before I was a permanent part of the Swan-Clearwater picture. Strangely, though, they fit with Thea's personality. Someone looking only at the surface: at the combat boots, concert T's and dyed blue stripe in her hair might miss this, but Thea possesses an exacting kind of grace that ballet really taps into.

I'm present at each and every one of her performances, but I seldom have the opportunity to watch practice sessions. I opt instead to give Seth his time, unwilling to intrude.

This Saturday morning's respite ruined, I found myself eager to catch a glimpse of Thea's class. However, I hadn't counted on the possibility that two dozen mothers, grandmothers, and various and sundry relatives might congregate in the waiting area with similar motivations. The cluster fuck in front of the two observation windows could have contended with just about any mosh pit I'd ever encountered. I had only the willpower to tussle with the rest of the audience long enough to catch a graceful turn and leap, before I took a more dignified place leaning against the far wall.

Glancing around, it seemed all the males in attendance had taken a similar stance. Some scrolled through text on their phones, others had tablets or actual newspapers, while a choice few stared off at the walls. A couple was seated on the lone couch with their heads bent together, deep in conversation, holding hands.

I narrowed my eyes. I took a deep breath and wondered whether I should slip out the door unnoticed. Before I could make a move though, a steel blue eye caught sight of me. After another word or three with his co-couch sitter, I found myself standing across the small lobby from Seth and his husband, Jared.

I smiled reflexively, hoping the strain didn't show on my face. It was easily detectible on Seth's face, however. Jared, on the other hand, was an instantly overjoyed, yet nervous mess. It turns out he was something of a fan back in the day. Seth's love for his husband must have known no bounds – eclipsing even his distaste for Jared's taste in mid-eighties alterna-punk bands.

Jared was the first to stand from the couch, to rub his thighs, to offer a handshake to go with his more genuine smile.

"What in the world are you doing here?" His grip was firm, his shake vigorous, his palm sweaty.

Seth hung back behind Jared, offering only a cocked eyebrow and a nod, his hands sunk deep in his jean pockets. All of us really did get on well together… in Bella's presence. Without her there as a buffer though, it appeared that every misgiving and ounce of distrust Seth had for me was projected outward, like a porcupine raising his spikes.

Seth had told me years ago that I could reside with his daughter (and keep my dick) only until I broke Bella's heart again. After that I'd have to part with both treasures. I'm five years in. Holding on.

"I didn't think you'd be here," I tried explaining to the two men.

"Why not?" Jared asked, looking between Seth and me.

"Bella?" I tried. Her name came out like a question, one that seemed to smack Seth in the face. Honestly, every time my wife's name issues from my mouth Seth acts like it's a personal affront. Like I'm taking liberties.

"Did you get a glimpse through the window?" Jared asked. "Maria Kochetkova is their guest instructor today. She's picked Thea out to lead the class at least three times. She's an exquisite dancer. I mean Thea is… _and_ Maria Kochetkova. But you probably don't care as much about Maria Kochetkova."

"Actually, no, not at all."

"Seriously, though, what gives?" Seth asked. "Bella sent you?"

"_You came! You came!"_

Before I could answer, Thea rushed across the lobby and leaped into my arms. The other girls from her class streamed around us, and some offered critical looks at Thea's childish display, but she didn't seem to care.

"Thanks, Edward," she said with a hug. "Mom didn't think so, but I knew you'd come."

"Never bet against Thea," Jared said, ruffling his stepdaughter's ponytail.

"I didn't realize Edward was coming either," Seth muttered.

"You didn't think I'd leave Edward out, did you Dad? I wanted a daddy-day brunch. It would only be two thirds of the way right if you weren't _all_ here."

"Brunch, huh?" I asked, setting Thea back on her feet.

"That new place in The Castro that Mom and Aunt Alice are always talking about."

I found myself smiling. I squeezed Thea's hand. "Sounds perfect."

~0~0~

Alice and Bella have good taste: in literature and lead singers, and apparently also in brunch. But all the strong coffee and huevos racheros in the world couldn't erase the fact that I was sitting across from Seth Clearwater, a man that very likely wished me lying in my grave, instead of lying in bed with Bella Swan.

Seth wasn't outwardly hostile, though. He kept his eyes on the menu and his daughter, and alternately held on tight to both Jared's hand and his own mug of coffee. The invisible wall he seemed to erect between the two of us was disconcerting, but Thea's mischievous, self-satisfied smile helped matters.

Jared's vacillation between eager adoration as he glanced at me, and conciliatory concern as he clutched Seth's hand was endearing. My heart went out to the man as he struggled to find middle ground between Seth and me. He was attempting to fill a position that Bella took up effortlessly at recitals, birthdays, and Thanksgivings, not to mention each Sunday at our home. It occurred to me that I owed Bella some sincere gratitude. Perhaps we could rehash things on a Sunday morning this one time around.

"The food's really good, isn't it?" Thea asked, looking between the three men in her life.

We all nodded and mumbled and smiled. Seth went back to his food. I sipped at my coffee. Jared looked as if he might be in imminent need of a blood pressure pill.

"Did you see me dance, Edward?" Thea tried again.

"A bit. You looked beautiful. But those other mothers have blocking tactics not seen in the NFL."

"If Seth and I knew you were around we'd have warned you not to wander into the fray without padding," Jared offered with a nervous chuckle.

"I don't know. Edward can _totally_ handle himself in a crowd. I've seen videos." Thea grinned up at me. Seth's fork scraped along his plate. Silence settled over the table as a waitress came and filled our water glasses.

"So_,"_ Jared began. "I, um, just heard that new cover of _There is a Light_ by Death Cab."

All eyes focused on me. No matter how many years had passed, I still didn't feel comfortable in those kinds of situations. Was I supposed to spontaneously wax philosophical about my own lyrics? Was I supposed to launch into a critique of the newer version of the song? I settled on, "Yeah?"

"_Yeah_. What do you think?"

I shrugged. 'Royalties' seemed a trite response. I could hardly be bothered to think about a song written over twenty years ago. If he really wanted to know what I thought, I thought Seth should order a bloody Mary, loosen up and try stringing more than three words together at a time. I'd been included in Thea's daddy day. I wasn't Hitler. It wasn't the end of the fucking world.

"I mean covers…" Jared continued. "Do you cringe when you hear them? Is it weird or flattering or… I don't know." He gave up with a shake of his head and a long sip from his glass of water.

"I don't know either," I agreed.

I ticked through a list of things I did know: I knew Seth used to listen to _There is a Light_. I knew he'd been a Masen's fan – perhaps more so than Jared. I knew he'd rather die than admit it.

Thea piped up. "I heard Death Cab's cover too. I think it's kind of awesome. I mean, all of my friends are hearing it like it's the first time and it's such a _good_ song. The lyrics are so true, too. Sometimes how you feel about someone never changes, no matter what they do. And that's not a bad thing or a weak thing about a person; it's kind of cool." Thea glanced around the table. "That's a special message for a rock song to have, right?"

I nodded and tapped my coffee mug to her glass of juice, deciding that all questions about covers of old Masens' tunes should probably be referred to my stepdaughter from that point on.

Thea beamed.

"That cover's not as awesome as The XX's cover of _Tragically Hip_ from the last Masens' album, though. That one's _absolutely_ amazing. They're just cool enough and talented enough to really pull it off. Like, they really make you feel the lyrics deep down inside: how you can be so alone and so empty, but just the idea that there's one other person out there that understands you... Then that emptiness fills you up and makes you feel whole and good. _That_'s a cool cover." Thea nodded her head and shook her juice glass at us for emphasis.

"Completely," Jared agreed. "But tell the truth, did Edward make you say that?"

Seth eyed me over his mug of coffee.

"No way!" Thea objected. "Of course The XX has that whole sexual ambiguity thing going on, which is totally different and makes the song kind of different too. You didn't have that, Edward… not so much… I don't think."

Jared smirked and busied himself with his plate. Seth coughed.

I laughed. "I'd like to think you're right."

"Well, Mom says -"

"- that you've got a report due next Friday on Emily Dickenson," Seth interrupted.

Thea's eyes widened. "Oh, um, yeah."

"Have you started it yet?"

"A little. But Emily Dickenson's easy. She was sad and she wrote short poems about it all."

"You offer ten words to sum up Dickenson, but a thesis on The Masens?" Seth asked, eyebrows raised.

Thea shrugged. "Emily Dickenson's not one of my stepdads."

"Touché, Little One." I tipped my coffee mug to her again.

Jared elbowed Seth in the ribs. "Like father like daughter. Right?"

"I could say plenty about Dickenson," Seth countered. "I teach a summer intensive about her."

"But who got you interested in analyzing American poetry in the first place?"

"I don't think -"

Jared turned to face the rest of the table. "The first literary critique Seth ever wrote was about the 'lyrical poetry' of The Masens - their first album. It landed him in honors English and it might have been the only 'A' he ever got in high school, too. At least that's what I've heard."

This time I was the one that coughed on my coffee.

"Really?" Thea squealed.

Jared nodded. "That's what your mom said."

"Really, Dad?"

"If you'll excuse me…" Seth pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed out his chair. "I'll be right back."

Thea watched her father heading for the door with wide eyes, her hands twisting in her lap. Jared half-rose from his chair and clutched his napkin. "I should probably -"

"I should _definitely_," I countered, rising and taking one more fortifying gulp of bitter coffee. I kissed the top of Thea's head. "Be right back."

~0~0~

My older daughter, Lizzy, is a cancer survivor, so I avoid tobacco in all shapes and forms out of principle. When I spotted a taciturn Seth with a cigarette between his lips, my instinct was to turn in the opposite direction and head right back to Thea and Jared, or even better, back to Bella and bed. For better or for worse, I went against my instincts. I could feel Seth's eyes on me as I walked toward him, but looked off down Castro Street instead at the rainbows fluttering on lamp poles and the people milling on sidewalks with coffee cups in hand, thoroughly enjoying _their_ Saturday morning. _Lucky fuckers_.

"What is it?" Seth asked as I took up the spot next to him, leaning against the restaurant's neuvo-industrial iron façade.

I nodded at the cigarette in his hand. "You don't smoke that shit around Thea, do you?"

"I bummed it from a busboy. Anyway, it's not really your concern, is it?"

"Like hell."

"Jesus," Seth huffed, flicking the cigarette.

"More like Edward Cullen and the U.S. Surgeon General."

"Really? _Christ_." He shook his head, blowing out a last puff of smoke, before stomping the butt with the heel of his shoe.

"Listen, I think it's time for you to get the fuck over this, Seth."

"Excuse me?"

I folded my arms, steeling myself to have this out once and for all. "Is sharing breakfast with me really that much of an affront to your sense of right and wrong? Your daughter wanted this. I think it's time for you to stop acting like a child."

"_Thea_'s the child, Edward. I know your ability to discern between kids and adults is flawed, so let me be clear. She's eleven years old and she's in there looking at you all doe-eyed and talking about sexual ambiguity. She's going on and on about how cool it is to love a person so much that they can eat you up and spit you out and you still love them. You think that's okay at _eleven_? You're starting early this time."

"I didn't do that, okay? I never said that to her."

"Even better, you fucking _sang_ that."

"Yeah, well, once upon a time you apparently believed it too, in your English class."

"You're not going to drag my daughter into this," Seth commanded, pointing toward the restaurant's entrance.

"What? Like I _dragged_ Bella?"

"This has nothing to do with Bella."

"Like hell it doesn't. Listen, you've got to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is all for good. Bella's not leaving me."

"You think I worry about _Bella_ leaving _you_? You're delusional."

"Well I fucking worried, but it turns out it's not happening. She married me, Seth. Bella, Thea and I live under one roof and that means you and I are going to cross paths for, well, just about the rest of my life."

I'd never spoken those words out loud before, not with that degree of certainty, and not to anyone besides Bella. It struck me that morning at the top of Castro Street that I'd finally gotten what I'd always wanted. The monotony of weekdays and weekends, of Bella and Thea's schedules, and my place in it all didn't mean shit compared to the fact that I had the life I'd never thought I'd have.

This Saturday I found myself smiling at Seth Clearwater, rocking on my heels. I won. I'd finally fucking won. If I'd come out on top though, Seth looked every inch the loser. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "That's my kid in there, Edward. _My_ daughter."

"I know."

"And one day you're going to fuck up and you're going to come falling down off that rock god pedestal she's put you on. She's going to see you're just some flawed guy that screwed up and screwed with her mom and you're going to break her heart. And I'm going to watch it happen all over again, this time with my own daughter. How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

"Watch _what _happen? Who do you take me for? Woody Allen?"

"You know what I mean. She hangs on your every word."

"And I hang on every word of hers. She's your kid, but I live with her and I love her. All three of us love her. That's why she invited us here. Right?"

Seth kicked at the sidewalk, patting his pockets, probably looking for another cigarette. When he started speaking his voice was soft and hard to hear over the noise of the cars and passing shoppers. "She told us yesterday that she wanted me _and_ Jared at her dad's breakfast. She never calls Jared dad. It's always 'Daddy and Jared' this and 'Daddy and Jared' that. You know?" Seth glanced up nervously. That wall he'd erected between the two of us had unexpectedly begun to fall down -enough that I could see a hint of insecurity and longing in his dark eyes. "He was excited this morning, and he's too damn nice to show how disappointed he is that she wants you here too."

I personally thought Jared was pretty pleased to be co-stepfathers with me, but I kept my ideas to myself.

"I can't stop being a father figure, Seth."

"I never wanted you to be a dad to her. I never wanted you here. But Bella… I knew this was it, but…"

"But here we are, right?" I could have taken Seth's confession personally, but it was something I'd always known. It was something I could understand, even.

"Listen, Seth, hearing Thea say 'dad' was about the only thing that could have gotten me here this morning, but not if it meant stepping on your toes. I might be one of the dads, but I'm not her father."

Seth sighed and shook his head as he stared off in the direction of the bay. "You're all over my fucking life, you know that, Edward? You're like some chewed up piece of gum I stepped in that's managed to stick to everything I touch. My friends, my kid, my husband; you're all over them."

Seth glanced back at me nervously, probably worried that he'd gone to far. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out an offering. "Doublemint?"

Desperate or not, Seth couldn't help but laugh a little at his own ridiculous metaphor. He took the gum, but stashed it in his pocket before bumming another smoke from a group of passing sailors. I leaned back against the side of the restaurant, wondering what Bella was doing, wondering if she and Thea had planned this together.

"What now?" Seth asked once he had his death stick in hand.

"It doesn't have to be so cut and dry," I suggested. "Friday she goes here, Sunday there. It might feel better to you if you guys came around more like you used to, before… me."

"You'd want that?" he asked.

Shit. I wasn't sure what I wanted. Could I do that? Could we handle that?

Seth and I regarded one another. What would I have done if Patti Smith fucked my best friend, broke his heart, and became my child's mother against my wishes? There was no telling. I certainly wouldn't have invited her to my wedding like Seth had invited me. Suddenly, I felt one-upped. I couldn't let Seth be the bigger man in all of this.

"You really wrote about my lyrics for an English paper?" I asked.

Seth started laughing, choking a little on smoke. His laughter grew until his chest shook, his eyes teared and he had to lean his hand against the wall for support.

"What?" I asked.

He looked up, smirking at me. "I proved that all of your lyrics were, well, in Thea's words, sexually ambiguous. That you were totally gay," he sputtered.

I laughed in spite of myself. "And you got an A?"

Seth cocked an eyebrow. "I just wrote what _Mr_. Massey wanted to hear."

"Shit," I chuckled.

Seth leaned his back against the wall next to me. He smoked. I smiled. We glanced at one another.

"Take care of her when you have her, okay?" he asked.

"I do. I will. I promise."

"I know you do. You could have been shit for a dad, but you're not. Thanks for that."

"Just find me a copy of that old English paper and we'll call it even."

~0~0~

Sunday mornings are never about sleeping in, nor are they about sleepy sex or lying about with a book and taking the day as it comes. For Bella Sunday mornings are all about preparing for the upcoming week, and they often entail laundry and house cleaning and shopping for food. Sundays usually begin with a long list and end with Thea returning home.

I'm never satisfied with Sunday mornings.

"_You don't have to do all of this,"_ I often argue.

"_I had two parents that didn't do this stuff. I want better for my family."_

"_Your parents never hired a housekeeper or a personal assistant either. There are lots of ways to make it better for us."_

This line of thinking always earned me a stern look and a quick kiss before Bella went back to her chores. I'm not giving up on my Sunday dreams, though. I'm certain I'll eventually wear her down. I'm just that charming.

This Sunday, however, _this _Sunday is mine. This Sunday there's no argument when I turn off the alarm and turn over under the covers and hold my dreams in my arms. This Sunday is soft and warm as I climb astride - to block out the sunlight, of course. This Sunday I take what's mine and whisper in her ear as her eyes squeeze shut and her breath catches in her throat. This Sunday I hold the one I love most in my arms, and rest my head next to hers on the pillow.

I wish every day were like this Sunday.

"No chores today. Okay?" I asked as I played with her hair.

Bella smiled. Her fingertips grazed the stubble on my jaw. "I believe you've earned a day of rest."

Another kiss, another caress and I pulled Bella onto my chest. Her soft hair fell over my face.

"I love you," I murmured.

"I know," she hummed.

"Dadward day, though? It was plain old dad day. You cheated."

"_We_ cheated. How else was Thea going to get all three of you there?"

"You could have asked."

Bella looked at me askance. She was right, of course. I'd never have gone knowingly, and neither would Seth. Seeing me with his daughter while she called me dad was probably up there with toothpicks in eyeballs and bamboo underneath fingernails.

"I get that Seth's worried, you know. She's growing up. Little girls' hearts eventually break. But it's not going to be me."

"She just loves you so much."

"I love you both," I assured my wife with a kiss. "_So_ much. You've made my life."

"Complete?" she asked.

"No. You just made it. It was just a shadow without you."

Bella's eyes glimmered. She bit her bottom lip. "And you made my childhood dreams come true."

"I don't think -"

"Shhh," she hushed. "You did."

"Thanks."

"Thank you," she said and sat up in the bed. "Now where was that list I made last night?"

"I don't fucking think so," I laughed. This morning she let me pull her back into the bed. This morning was fucking fabulous.

~0~

**A/N: This is dedicated to Katalina, of course, but also to those that still love these characters a whole year after this story was completed. Many, many thanks to SereneInNC who is always willing to drop what she's doing, correct my mistakes, and hold my hair while I metaphorically hurl… and then help make it as good as I imagined it could be. Love you, Shanna!**


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